An Antidote for French Immersion

In early August we put our daughter, Mathilde, on a plane to France to begin a six-month exchange during which she was to live with a family in Toulouse, enroll in a French public school, and, obviously, learn to speak French. Mathilde, who is fifteen, has wanted to do this since she was eleven years old. To that end she has studied French, watched French films, listened to French music, and by her own admission, eaten a great deal of Nutella. Now that she’s there, she’s finding many things about the French way of life very much to her liking. She bikes to school, takes public transport everywhere else, has learned to sail and eaten snails, and still can’t get over the fact that her school lunch comes complete with a baguette and a wedge of Camembert cheese. Indeed, two months in, she is by all accounts having such a good time, we’re beginning to wonder how on earth we’re going to get her to come home. So in a bald-faced effort to make her feel homesick, we’ve adopted a puppy. 

Poppy—for that is her name—is a scruffy, eight-week-old, black and white scrap of a thing, one of a litter of five that was rescued from a roadside culvert in Ferriday according to the folks at Concordia Parish PAWS (Pets Are Worth Saving), on whose Facebook page I first encountered her. In common with pretty much all shelter dogs, Poppy’s lineage is a bit of a mystery, although the shelter folks’ description of the litter as being “Catahoula/border collie cross” seems plausible, given that she has a short, tight coat, one “cracked glass” blue eye, and a rangy energy that seems consistent with the Catahoula’s breed’s original stated purpose, which was to track and herd wild hogs. While many details about the origins of Louisiana’s state dog straddle the line separating legend from myth (that they interbred with red wolves; that they evolved when hounds brought by Hernando de Soto’s bred with the Indians’ dogs), the fact that they were intentionally bred to help Native Americans living around Catahoula Lake to hunt hogs seems pretty much agreed upon. And while the place we live isn’t anywhere near Catahoula Lake, it has become inundated with wild hogs, which are so prolific, so destructive, and breed so fast, a dog expressly designed to pursue them doesn’t seem a bad idea. And anyway, what better way to express your Louisiana bona fides than by adding the Louisiana State Dog to the household? Even if this one is part border collie, I for one feel more patriotic already. 

But back to the original logic behind this acquisition. Our daughter is a dog person. The family she’s living with are cat people, so since her only non-French-speaking company is a thirteen-year-old cat that spends eighteen hours asleep each day, the strategy seems sound enough. In fact, until Poppy entered the picture the surest way to divert Mathilde’s attention from the bicycle-riding, boat-sailing, Camembert-eating, verb-conjugating distractions of life as a French teenager was to send pictures of our other dog, Monty, whom she adores and misses at least as much as her parents. Possibly more. Predictably, her reaction to the news of a new puppy in the household was enthusiastically longing. She’s now receiving “Daily Poppy” photo updates, with which we intend to keep ratcheting up the adorableness quotient until Mathilde breaks down and agrees to come home. If all goes well she’ll be back in time for Christmas. Call me sentimental, but it’ll be good to have her home.

And in the meantime, if there’s anyone else out there who’s in a position to offer a good home to a handsome, energetic, affectionate dog with more than a smattering of Louisiana state dog about her, the folks at Concordia PAWS would love to hear from you. Last I heard, Poppy’s four brothers and sisters were still there. Reach them at (318) 719-0940.

—James Fox-Smith, publisher

james@countryroadsmag.com